


More Than Meets the Eye

by partypaprika



Category: Breakfast with Scot (2007)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-23
Updated: 2015-12-23
Packaged: 2018-05-08 18:57:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5509355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/partypaprika/pseuds/partypaprika
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eric's not exactly in the best spot: he's got a busted shoulder, a concussion and little to no chance of getting back in the NHL. But as Sam starts becoming a larger part of Eric's life, Eric starts to realize that maybe there is a life after hockey.</p>
            </blockquote>





	More Than Meets the Eye

**Author's Note:**

  * For [oanja](https://archiveofourown.org/users/oanja/gifts).



> This is a yuletide treat for oanja--I hope you enjoy!

When the man walks into the hospital room, Eric groans. The pain meds just aren’t cutting it for his shoulder this afternoon and Eric has a headache that is strongly suggesting it’s going to become a migraine in an hour or so. Career ending shoulder injuries and a concussion will do that to you, he supposes.

 

“I thought I told them no visitors today,” Eric says, trying to place the man. He definitely looks familiar. Maybe he’s from the team. If he’s from the team, Eric is definitely kicking this guy out, no questions asked.

 

“You did,” the man says. “But as I’m a lawyer and I was sent by your agent to go through some paperwork, the staff probably felt safe throwing me into the wolf’s den.” He gives Eric a wry smile.

 

That’s when it clicks. Sam Miller. Bill had hired Sam a few years ago to deal with some contractual problems that Eric was having with a sponsorship company. Normally Bill just takes care of the paperwork, so this guy is barely more than a blur in Eric’s memory.

 

Eric considers putting up a stink, but he gets a little distracted by Sam’s hair. Sam must have just taken off his hat before entering the room because he got a few tufts of brown hair sticking up, at odds with Sam’s sleek suit and overcoat. For some reason that decides it because Eric sighs and says, “Fine.”

 

Sam pulls a chair over to the side of Eric’s bed and pulls out a small stack of paper from his briefcase. “Alright,” Sam starts. “We’ve got a couple things from the team to go through regarding injured reserve.”

 

“I think we both know that it’s just a placeholder for retirement,” Eric says bitterly.

 

Sam raises an eyebrow at Eric. “Well, you would know,” Sam says diplomatically. He’s the first person to not blindly disagree with Eric since Eric woke up in a hospital, high on painkillers, his sister curled up in a chair, her face pale with worry. Even the team doctors have insisted that only time will tell, despite the look in their faces that says that there’s a rat’s chance in hell of that happening.

 

Just for that, Eric decides that he’ll actually try to listen to Sam. Or at least try not to be a total asshole about it.

 

 

 

 

Despite Eric’s best attempt, after about half an hour of listening to Sam patiently explain the mechanics of injured reserve, Eric’s headache starts digging a little more insistently as he tries to read the specific sections that Sam’s referring to. Sam looks up and must see the pinched lines around Eric’s eyes.

 

“Why don’t we finish this up another day?” Sam says.

 

“No, I’m fine,” Eric tries.

 

“Uh huh,” Sam says, but he discretely moves the papers off of Eric’s tray. “I think it’s bad practice to make your clients sicker,” Sam says. “Besides, it’s almost dinner time. I wouldn’t want to cause you to miss out on that.”

 

Eric can’t help smiling as he shakes his head. “I would actually take this horrible headache and more reading over the stuff that they call food in here,” Eric says.

 

“Duly noted,” Sam says, but he’s smiling as he stands up.

 

 

 

 

Sam returns two days later, right before lunch. “I would say that I hate to be the bearer of boring paperwork,” Sam says when he enters. “But everyone knows that’s the only reason anyone becomes a lawyer. Or so I’m told.”

 

Eric can’t help but give a little laugh. “Obviously,” Eric says.

 

“Obviously,” Sam concurs. He pulls the chair over to Eric’s bed, just like last time. When Sam reaches down, instead of bringing up paperwork, he’s got a take-out bag.

 

Eric quirks an eyebrow at Sam as Sam takes out two chicken club sandwiches. He hands one to Eric. “I figured that the paperwork would go over a little easier with a bribe,” Sam says.

 

“Now that is spoken like a true lawyer,” Eric says, but he’s so happy to eat food that’s not from the hospital, he can’t even feign nonchalance.

 

Sam pushes the sandwich over to Eric, which Eric just about grabs. “I wasn’t sure what you like. I wanted to get burgers but I felt too guilty about bringing a burger into the hospital.”

 

Eric looks at Sam. Eric’s about to say that a chicken club is perfect, but there’s something about Sam’s face, like he’s trying to hide something. Eric squints suspiciously. “Did you also get fries?” he asks.

 

Sam sighs but he’s smiling as he reaches down and pulls out another bag with fries. “Well, there went my mid-explanation bribe,” he says.

 

 

 

 

They make it through most of the paperwork before they end up drifting off-topic. Sam’s a runner apparently. He’s training for the upcoming Toronto marathon and somehow they end up talking about running for a while. Around two, Sam looks down at his watch and makes an apologetic face at Eric.

 

“I’m sorry that I took us off track,” Sam says. “Unfortunately, I’ve got to head out now. Is it ok if I come back to go through the last of it? I promise you that we really will get it done.”

 

“No,” Eric says. Sam looks a little confused. “Well, I mean you’re welcome to come back, but they’re discharging me tomorrow. Although I bet the next guy to stay here will be very thankful for the chicken club.”

 

“Hey, that’s good news, right?” Sam asks. “Will you be staying with someone?”

 

Eric gives Sam a tight smile. “My sister is back school—she’s been coming to visit me, but it’s not fair to ask her to put up with me when she’s got to focus on both her job and work.”

 

Sam frowns. He doesn’t ask about Eric’s dad, even though that must be the obvious question. Sam also doesn’t bring up the fact that generally accepted medical advice recommends having someone around while Eric’s recovering from his concussion and surgery. Sam makes a little hmmm sound. “Is it ok if I drop by to go through the last of the paperwork with you? Or would you like to schedule an appointment and do it at my office.”

 

Eric gives Sam a look. “Alright, alright,” Sam says. “I’ll drop by your home.”

 

 

 

 

Sam drops by Eric’s apartment the next evening with some chicken noodle soup. Just coming home from the hospital has left Eric exhausted. “Really?” Eric says, trying to sound disapproving and not as weirdly relieved as he feels, but he lets Sam in and heads into the kitchen.

 

Eric starts looking for a pot to heat the soup up, but Sam fixes Eric with a look and directs Eric to sit down. “Just tell me where your pots are,” Sam says. “I think I can figure out the rest.”

 

Eric watches Sam as Sam moves quietly around the kitchen and starts heating up the soup. Sam’s as unflappable as ever under Eric’s scrutiny. When he looks up and catches Eric staring at him, Sam just raises a mild eyebrow.

 

 

 

 

As they eat, they go through the last of the paperwork, which Eric signs for Sam to take with him. Sam stays for a while after they finish, just chatting with Eric while Sam cleans up. Eric had tried to help but Sam had looked accusingly at Eric’s left shoulder and Eric had thrown up his right hand in surrender.

 

Eric walks Sam to the door. Eric feels almost pathetically grateful that Sam had stopped by. Aside from his sister coming to visit over the upcoming weekend and medical appointments, Eric isn’t expecting to get a lot of visitors. “Thanks for coming,” Eric says.

 

“Not a problem,” Sam says. “You’re not too far off my path home.”

 

They both stand there a little awkwardly until Eric’s mouth bypasses his brain and says, “Don’t be a stranger.” There’s a moment when Sam looks a little surprised, but then it’s gone and Sam’s face looks as neutral as ever. Eric, on the other hand, wishes that the earth would open up and swallow him whole.

 

“Sure,” Sam says. “I’ll try not to be.” But even Eric can tell that Sam’s saying it out of politeness.

 

Eric’s in a bad mood for the rest of the evening which isn’t helped by the state of his shoulder. Even Eric’s pain meds only dull the pain.

 

When Joan arrives the next day, she notices as well. “Wow! Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed,” she says. Eric just settles for glaring at her from the couch. The Leafs are playing tonight, but he can’t yet watch their games because the TV gives him too much of a headache.

 

 

 

Eric’s bad mood and his sister stay through the weekend. On Monday morning, Joan drives Eric to and from his doctor’s appointment. Dr. Silva makes a lot of hmm-ing sounds and they take some new scans of his shoulder.

 

“Well, it’s healing quite nicely,” Dr. Silva says finally. “We’ll start you on physical therapy this week.”

 

“Yippee,” Eric says.

 

“After a few sessions, we’ll probably be able to get you out of this sling as well,” Dr. Silva says.

 

“I’m beside myself,” Eric says.

 

 

 

 

When they in the car, Joan has her lips pursed. “I’m a little concerned about you,” she says. “And no one has said that you won’t be able to play again.”

 

Eric rolls his eyes. “The likelihood of me getting back my full range of motion is slim to none. And I may be an enforcer, but even an enforcer has to be able to hold a hockey stick.”

 

“Eric,” she says.

 

“Just drop it,” Eric says.

 

When Joan drops Eric back off at his house, she stops Eric before he gets out of the car. “Are you ok?” Joan asks.

 

“I’m fine,” Eric says and he shakes off her arm to get out of the car.

 

“I’ll try to come next weekend,” Joan calls after Eric as he makes his way to the front door. Eric doesn’t respond.

 

 

 

 

Eric lazes about the house that day, napping for most of it. He feels at loose ends—he’s never had this much free time without any real objective before. It’s almost too much to contemplate so Eric chooses to not think about it and sleep instead.

 

He’s dozing when the doorbell sounds around seven p.m. Eric’s a little disoriented as he makes his way to the door and he feels like he’s in the middle of a very surreal dream when he opens up the door to find Sam standing there.

 

“Hey,” Sam says. “Am I disturbing you?” He’s looking at Eric’s hair, which must be a complete mess right now.

 

“No, of course not,” Eric says, trying to discreetly smooth down his hair as he lets Sam in. Eric feels a little off balance as he follows Sam to the kitchen.

 

 

 

 

“So,” Sam starts, once they sit down. Sam’s brought over Indian food and Eric is already digging into it. “What are you going to do next?”

 

Eric stops mid-bite and then forces himself to finish chewing and swallow. “Next?”

 

“You said that injured reserve is a placeholder for retirement,” Sam says. “What are you planning on doing next?”

 

Eric gives a half shrug with his good shoulder. “I hadn’t even thought about it. Honestly, I have no clue. Hockey always been my entire life. It’s not like there’s a lot of use out there for an enforcer in the real world.”

 

Sam frowns. “Well,” Sam says. “I think you have a lot more to offer than beating people up. You’re smart—you could go into a lot of things.”

 

Eric’s been told to get out there and play smart. Or that he’s got a lot of hockey smarts. But no one has ever said directly to him, “Eric, you’re smart.” Presumably, smart people end up in careers that last longer than fifteen years, at best. Eric flounders for a second, trying to get his bearings. “I, uh, I don’t know,” he says eventually. “All I’ve ever wanted was sports.”

 

Sam gets a thoughtful look on his face and is quiet for a few minutes. “You don’t have to give up sports just because you can’t play them,” Sam says finally. “You could go back to school and go into the business end. Or you could go into announcing or journalism.”

 

“Could you imagine me in front of a camera?” Eric says, dubiously.

 

Sam looks straight back at Eric and gives him a smile. “Yeah, I can,” he says.

 

 

 

 

Sam takes to coming over on his way home most nights if he’s not stuck at the office too late, even though Eric’s moved past the sling and is beginning to regain a small range of motion. Their conversations are always refreshingly normal where Sam treats Eric as Eric the person, not Eric the famous hockey player or Eric the soon to be washed up hockey player, which is how he feels with almost everyone else. They talk about what Eric's going to do next or trips that Sam wants to take or if the Blue Jays are going to live up to their championship seasons. 

 

But there’s something more as well, just in the way that Sam looks at him and Eric wonders, maybe, what if?

 

 

 

 

Eric thinks about it sometimes—if Sam were also gay. Eric knows that he’s good looking, he’s in the NHL and up until this injury, Eric essentially was required to work out for his living. But Sam’s got the whole package—he’s smart, he’s got a real career, he’s good-looking and when he smiles, Eric wants to push him up against a wall and kiss Sam until Sam’s breathless and dazed. Yeah, Eric thinks about it sometimes.

 

 

 

 

Sam keeps coming by. Eric feels like he’s going crazy.

 

 

 

 

Eric’s talking with his agent one day and a thought occurs to him. “Hey Bill,” Eric says. “I think I have a few remaining papers that I need to drop off with Sam. I don’t know if I’ll make it to his office before they’re closed for the night. Do you know if he lives around my area and I could drop it off later this evening?”

 

"Hmm," Bill says as he thinks. “I would double check with his office, but I’m pretty sure he lives in Bloor West Village, so it’s probably just easier for you to drop it off tomorrow.”

 

“Got it,” Eric says, but he’s smiling into the phone. “It shouldn’t be a problem to take it there tomorrow.”

 

 

 

 

When Sam comes over that night, the first thing that he says is, “Are you actually in a good mood? You appear to be smiling, but it’s so unfamiliar that I’m a little bit worried.”

 

“Ah, no,” Eric says and tries to bring down the enthusiasm level. Eric tries to think of a reason, any reason, why he might be happy other than a confirmation that Sam's been going out of his way to visit Eric. “It’s just that I think I’m finally up to watching a full game,” he says. “I’ve been watching bits and pieces and I think that I might be able to make it through a whole one.”

 

“Yeah?” Sam says. “You know, this is going to sound ridiculous, but I’ve never watched a full game on television.”

 

Eric’s jaw drops. “What?”

 

“I mean,” Sam says, starting to laugh a little. “I’ve watched parts of games, but I never really had the patience to sit through an entire game if I wasn’t in the stadium.”

 

“This is a wrong that must be righted,” Eric says.

 

“Are you going to right this wrong right now?” Sam asks, but he’s already moving towards Eric’s tv room and putting down today’s take-out on the coffee table. Eric brings over the plates and silverware and flips on the tv for the pre-show of the Sharks against the Leafs.

 

They both settle onto the couch, a conspicuous foot or so of distance between them as they help themselves to the sushi that Sam brought. When the game comes on, Eric can dimly hear himself talking, making little jokes to Sam, telling side stories about the players on the ice. But inside, Eric is freaking out—he’s never been more conscious of the distance between himself and Sam. Should Eric move over and close the distnace? What if he's reading this entirely wrong? 

 

When the first intermission comes, Eric couldn’t even have guessed at the score.

 

Sam carefully takes the remote from the coffee table and turns down the sound before facing Eric. He gives Eric a half smile and then clears his throat. “All I ask,” Sam says, in a half-joking manner. “Is that if you decide to punch me, please don’t use your left hand. I’d hate to be responsible for you needing surgery all over again.”

 

Eric frowns, unsure of where Sam is going, when suddenly Sam scoots closer, erasing any distance between them. Sam’s eyes are dilated and Eric knows what’s going to happen before it does, but it still takes him by surprise, the first press of Sam’s lips against Eric’s.

 

But then Eric’s kissing back, his good arm coming up to pull Sam closer and Sam’s wrapped a hand around Eric’s neck. They kiss until Eric’s mouth feels oversensitive and used and Eric can feel where Sam’s faint stubble has rubbed against Eric’s throat, making it feel on the good side of raw. Unfortunately, Eric’s shoulder feels a little bit past its good side and he winces when he tries to right himself.

 

Sam immediately notices and apologizes. “I totally forgot,” Sam says, looking horrified. “Is your shoulder ok?”

 

“It’s fine,” Eric says. “It’s just a bit at an awkward angle.”

 

Sam stands up and moves onto the other side of Eric and sits down. This time, he sits right next to Eric and there’s no space between them.

 

There’s a moment of awkward silence and then Sam says, completely seriously. “So I think the hockey game is back on.”

 

Eric gives Sam a look of utter disbelief. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Screw the game.”

 

Sam gives Eric that smile and then leans back in, sneaking an arm around Eric to pull him close. This time, Eric is leaning on his good arm. “Just checking that we were on the same page,” he says and brings Eric in for another kiss.

 


End file.
